Bathroom. That was a place to check. There were bathrooms not terribly far from the ballroom, and Zack doubled back and stepped into one. Both doors had the same gender-neutral sign. Zack pushed open one door to walk into a face full of hair spray as a woman was reapplying some to her hair. The room had been full of happiness and cheerful conversation as well.
The other bathroom was eerily silent. The quiet made Zack’s hair stand on end, and he crept forward on the balls of his feet. A low moan echoed across the tiles, and for an instant, he worriedthat he’d stumbled into somewhere he shouldn’t. But the sound ended in pain, not pleasure.
“Vincent?” Zack called out hoarsely. He peeked around the corner. Besides a couple of urinals, there were three stalls. Someone dressed in purple was sitting in one of them. “Uh, hey, Vincent?”
A sniff, then a groan, came from the person. Then, a careful voice. “W-who’s there?”
“Zack Wright.”
“Go away.” But a sob was clearly caught in Vincent’s throat.
How did I ever think this guy was my nemesis?Zack continued forward. Spatters of blood dotted the otherwise pristine tile. Some had hit the wall. Bracing himself, he pushed on the stall door. It was locked.
“Vincent, let me help.”
“There’s nothing you can do,” Vincent cried.
“You can let me in, or I can crawl in my extremely expensive tuxedo on this … actually, the floor looks pretty clean.” Zack started to lower himself down.
“Fine! Why should I have any fucking dignity?” Vincent screamed.
Zack was about to take back his request when Vincent threw the lock and the door slammed open. Vincent was sitting on the floor, barely out of the swing of the door, and had his legs sprawled out in front of him. He held a wad of toilet paper against his split lip. One eye was red and beginning to puff, and the bridge of his nose had a hint of the same redness. His other cheek was cut, a trickle of blood making its way down to his jaw. Evidence of a handprint around his throat spoke to another bruise in the making.
And all of that was what Zack could easily see. The way Vincent sat, with his other hand landing on his side, made Zack wonder about other injuries.
“Fuck,” Zack said as he sat on his knees. Then he snapped out of his daze and went to the sink. He grabbed a paper towel and dampened it.
“What are you doing?” Vincent demanded, then hissed in pain.
“You need something cold for that eye.”
“I tried to ruin your life. Why are you being nice to me?”
“Ruin?” Zack shot him a grin. “That Fang app thing was likemildinconvenience at best.”
Vincent eyed him warily as Zack handed over the damp paper towel. He placed it against his eye and let out a soft sound of relief that quickly morphed into a flinching groan. “It didn’t bother you?”
“Well, it did. But.” Zack fussed with his hair, ran into styling gel, and stopped. “I, uh. Did some research.”
“What … research?” Vincent asked.
“About Seamus and how long he keeps a head pet. And I realized you were running out of time, and I didn’t need to make your life harder.”
“Oh.” Tears leaked from Vincent’s uncovered eye, and then the sob finally broke free from him. “He’s going to fucking kill me.”
“What if you hid in the Chateau?” Zack asked. “This place is huge. We could get you somewhere upstairs or find a secret compartment or something. Then, when the party’s long over, you sneak out.”
Vincent shook his head. “Someone tried that last year. Candide turned over the body.”
Zack bit his bottom lip. He couldn’t just leave Vincent to his fate. If Seamus didn’t kill him this night, it could be the next or the one after. The chance that Vincent would live long enough for Roger to kill Seamus and claim the coven was slim.
“You’re coming with me.” Zack reached forward and started to undo Vincent’s collar.
“I can’t. Your master?—”
“My boyfriend will get on board, or he’ll deal with a breakup,” Zack muttered. He held the collar out in front of Vincent. “Now, I can leave you here, or you can come with me. Your choice.”
Vincent bit his lip for a long moment, then grabbed the collar from Zack and threw it across the bathroom.
